What immediately stood out to me in Genesis 26 was Isaac doing the same thing his father did by presenting his wife as his sister. Once again, God protected them, just as He did with Abraham. Even with that misstep, Isaac was obedient to God and carried himself with a peaceful spirit. When the herders argued with him over the wells his servants dug, Isaac didn’t push back. Instead, he allowed them to keep the wells and simply moved on to dig another. I believe it was this peaceful demeanor that allowed Abimelech and his people to see God at work in Isaac, which ultimately led to a peaceful agreement between them. Hebrews 13 reminds me that faith is lived out in the small, everyday moments. It encourages me to stay grounded, love people, and trust God instead of stressing or trying to handle everything on my own. I am reminded that God isn’t asking for perfection, again, I am enough, and He is simply asking for my faithfulness and trust. Knowing that He equips me with what I need gives me peace and helps me stay steady in my walk.

Hebrews 12:11 [11] For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. The word "Discipline" seems to get a bad rap in our society. It's almost always used in alignment with punishment. That's what can make this line seem so harsh for a reader in our time period. But what if we look deeper: Discipline comes from the Latin disciplina, meaning instruction, training, and education, rooted in discipulus—a student or learner. In Hebrews 12, the Greek word paideia refers not to punishment but to the formation of the whole person through guidance, practice, and loving correction, much like the raising of a child. From a more mystical perspective, for the Desert Fathers, discipline was voluntary training that healed the soul by revealing and loosening attachments, while mystically it means becoming a true disciple—one who submits to being shaped by love. Discipline, then, is not God’s anger or punishment but God’s investment: love that refuses to leave us to fend for ourselves in our attempts to seek Him.

Reading Genesis 22–23 alongside Hebrews 11 stopped me in my tracks today. Just a few chapters earlier in Genesis, Abraham’s deepest ache was painfully simple: he wanted a son. An heir. A future. He waited decades for the promise, wrestled with doubt, and cried out to God for what felt like the most reasonable prayer imaginable. And then—miraculously—Isaac arrives. Which makes Genesis 22 almost unbearable. The same son Abraham once begged God for is now the son God asks him to place on the altar. And what’s most striking to me isn’t fear or resistance in Abraham—it’s the absence of hesitation. Hebrews 11 tells us Abraham obeyed because he trusted God completely, even believing God could raise Isaac from the dead. Abraham had reached a place where the promise no longer mattered more than the Promiser. That convicts me deeply. I can pray fervently for things—clarity, opportunity, relationships, calling—and yet once I receive them, I grip them tightly. I protect them. I assume they are mine to keep. Abraham reminds me that faith doesn’t end when the prayer is answered. Sometimes faith is proven after the blessing arrives—when God asks whether I trust Him enough to still place it back in His hands. And the weight of Abraham’s obedience echoes far beyond that mountain. Scripture tells us that through Abraham, all nations would be blessed. That promise traces back, in part, to this moment of surrender. One quiet, obedient “yes” became a turning point in redemptive history. We often talk about the ripple effect of evil—how one sinful choice multiplies harm across generations. But Genesis 22 invites us to pause and consider the opposite: the immeasurable ripple effect of obedience. What if faithfulness carries just as much generational weight? What if our quiet acts of trust—seen by no one but God—become blessings we’ll never fully see this side of eternity? Abraham never saw all the nations blessed. He just trusted God with what mattered most to him. I want to live in this level of obedience.

Today’s reading reminds me that God is both patient and holy — slow to judge, but never indifferent to injustice. In Genesis 18–19, God listens to Abraham’s intercession, showing that mercy is always His first instinct, even when judgment is necessary. Psalm 11 anchors us in the truth that God sees everything clearly — nothing escapes His gaze, and righteousness is never overlooked. Hebrews 9 then reframes it all through Jesus, reminding us that God’s ultimate response to sin wasn’t distance, but self-giving sacrifice. Judgment is real, but redemption is deeper. And the invitation today is to trust a God who takes sin seriously and love even more seriously.

What really stood out to me in today’s reading was Abram’s interaction with Melchizedek. It’s such a short moment, but it clearly foreshadows Jesus — a priest and king who brings bread and wine, blesses freely, and isn’t tied to lineage or religious systems. Hebrews later connects this directly to Christ, which makes this scene feel intentional, not random. Melchizedek shows up after the battle, not during it. Abram has already done the hard thing and then refuses the rewards from the king of Sodom. Once the striving and grasping stop, peace appears — fitting, since Melchizedek is the king of Salem (peace). He blesses Abram, and Abram responds by giving a tithe without being told to. No law yet, just recognition and gratitude. To me, this points to a deeper idea which has really resonated lately. One I'm really trying to lean into: When we stop trying to win or control outcomes, peace meets us, and relationship replaces transaction. We can be one with God and stop letting our preferences turn into emotions that blind us from the blessings we are receiving.